Rectitude
by Insomniac Owl
Summary: This baby will fix them both. This pregnancy will make things right.


Rectitude

by Insomniac Owl

-

Her mascara is dripping, making tear-tracks over her cheekbones, touching at her lips before falling streaked with black. She's never been one for tears (not so obviously, she'll try to hide them - she used to cry quite often, actually, when she was younger) but at the moment she can't even bring her hands up. To cover her face. Her tears.

Her legs dangle off the bed, not quite touching the floor in a positioning so childish (and silly), but she doesn't take notice. All her attention is focused on the object in her hand, a home pregnancy test - the sort of thing you can buy for around twenty dollars, over-the counter at the drugstore. The window is blue, and distorted by the black-ish tear resting on the plastic.

She sees herself, in a year's time (maybe a little more, because she knows it will take time to adjust to the presence of a child - _her_ child! - in the house) a proud mother, a proud wife. She looks happy. She's smiling, at least, bouncing a silly toy for her child, who bats at it like a cat. She can't tell if it is a boy or a girl because she can't focus on the face, but really, she doesn't care.

She can (pretend to) feel the life inside, a snowballing clump of cells. For a week now, she's been queasy in the morning, vomiting into the toilet at least twice after breakfast. Her missed period was two weeks ago - that was when she began to hope. Maybe, she thought, maybe this is it. She hadn't been trying for a baby (Sasuke hadn't been, either) but she loved the thought of it now. And how could she not? What mother could not love her child, even still in the womb?

(We are entranced. We fall in love with life. And because we cannot duplicate it, it _fascinates_ us. We love, then envy, what we cannot create for ourselves - artificially, whenever we like.)

She thinks of Sasuke then, brushing a strand of pink hair from her eyes. What will he think? Will he even remember the conception, when he ran his fingers down her neck, breasts, stomach, and whispered in her ear? She can't remember what he said, and she doubts he will either. He has been out so often, lately, and even when he's home he's a little distant, preoccupied somehow. She assumes it's the work - isn't it always? especially with the sort of work _he_ does - and tries to help the best she can.

Somehow, though, she's always gotten the impression that what she does is never enough (can never _be_ enough), but she tries to brush the feeling aside. With this proof she holds in her hands, she'll prove herself worthy. Of his love, of deserving to have this child, the one she wants so badly now. This pregnancy will make everything right, like it used to be.

When they were first married, things were as she had imagined they would be. Blissful, even perfect. They made love, they talked late into the night in soft voices, they made each other breakfast and dinner, enjoying each other's company. Then Sasuke began staying later and later at work. He took more assignments, and talked a little less. And a little less.

But with this child, she will allow herself to forget all that. This child will make things better (as they had been). It will make Sasuke love her as he used to.

She rises from the bed, pushing her hair behind her ear as she goes into the bathroom. It's a small one, connected to the master bedroom by a plain white door. She's been thinking about painting it green, though, if Sasuke agrees. Behind it there is a sink, and a toilet, and a bathtub hung with a red shower curtain. The rest of the room is white.

She lays the pregnancy test on the lip of the sink, but, turning to leave, she is distracted by the mirror, by her reflection. Somewhere in the middle of her stomach (womb, she knows the word) there is a child. There is life, growing. Life within life. She runs a hand over her stomach, turning to the side to view her profile, and wonders if Sasuke will love her when her waist has disappeared into a bulge. Yes, she decides. He must, because his child is growing within her.

She doesn't know why the concept of a child is so reassuring, but it is. It assuages any doubts she may have about Sasuke's love in a way she can't quite explain. This is his child - will be, when it's born - and he has to love it. It is his, a mixture of himself and her, a glorious miracle. The thought is reassuring. How can he not love a piece of himself? And how can he not love the woman who bore it?

She allows herself a smile - a gesture that she seems to be making too little nowadays. But this baby, this baby will fix that. It will make things right.

(In life, we seek hope. We seek answers.)

Already, she has begun to dream.

finis


End file.
